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out over the turquoise water of the bay as he spoke. “Brianne, do you really think anyone else would have given a damn if I got rolled that night I drank too much?” he asked ruefully. “Do you think anyone would have cared if I’d died right there?”
    â€œI would have,” she said.
    â€œYes, I know. It doesn’t make things any easier. You’re too young.”
    â€œYou’re too old,” she retorted. She smiled. “Does it matter, really?”
    His black eyes surveyed her with faint amusement. “I suppose not. Come on. I’ve got the car.”

Chapter Three
    T he entrance to Pierce’s villa was through a high wrought-iron gate that had to be opened electronically by a device in the Mercedes he drove on the island. The paved driveway was lined by towering casuarina pines with their feathery spines, and flame trees in glorious bloom. Along the sand that flanked the driveway were blooming hibiscus plants and sea grape trees with circular leaves, which slaves were said to have used for plates in the days of pirate ships.
    Two huge German shepherds lived in a kennel near the main house.
    â€œKing and Tartar,” Pierce said, indicatingthe dogs as they drove past the chain-link fence that contained the animals. “They’re let loose at night inside the gates. I wouldn’t want to run into them myself.”
    She smiled. “I guess in your income bracket, you can’t afford to take chances.”
    â€œI don’t. I have a security chief who makes the White House brigade look sloppy.” He glanced at her. “I’ll have to introduce you one day. He’s Sioux.”
    Her eyebrows rose. “Indian?”
    â€œIndigenous aborigine,” he corrected her with a grin. “Don’t ever call him an Indian. He speaks five languages fluently and has a degree in law.”
    â€œNot your average security chief.”
    â€œNot at all. There’s still plenty I don’t know about him, and he’s worked for me for three years.” He pulled up in front of the house and stopped. As he helped Brianne out, a middle-aged man with a Mediterranean look came out the door, smiled and replaced Pierce behind the wheel.
    â€œArthur,” Pierce said, waving the man away. “He usually drives me. He’ll put the car in the garage. And this is Mary,” he added, smiling at the pretty middle-aged black womanwho opened the door. “She came with the villa. Nobody, but nobody cooks conch the way she does.”
    â€œNobody except my mama,” Mary agreed. “How you doing, miss?”
    â€œI’m fine, thanks,” Brianne said, and smiled.
    â€œAny calls?” Pierce asked.
    â€œOnly one, from Mr. Winthrop, but he said it wasn’t urgent.”
    â€œOkay. We’ll be at the pool.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Mary closed the big wooden door behind them, and Pierce led Brianne down a cool arched stone walkway that led to a huge swimming pool with a commanding view of the ocean beyond it.
    She shaded her eyes with her hand and looked toward a jutting promontory where casuarina pines waved in the breeze and two sailboats lay at anchor.
    â€œIt’s so peaceful here,” she commented.
    â€œThat’s why I like it.”
    She turned back to him. He pulled out a cushioned chair at a white wrought-iron table with an umbrella covering it and indicated that she should sit down.
    â€œDo you spend much time in the pool?” she asked curiously.
    â€œNot a lot. I can swim, but I don’t care too much for it. I like to sunbathe out here. It helps me think things through.” He motioned to Mary, who brought a tray with two tall, milky-looking drinks on it and a plate of small cakes.
    Mary put the tray on the table and smiled as she left them by the pool.
    â€œMary makes good tea cakes,” he said, reaching for his drink. “Help yourself.”
    She reached for one and put it on the saucer